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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226113">mise en place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher'>squadrickchestopher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Bartenders, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, M/M, POV Clint Barton, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink Clint, Rimming, Soft Dom Bucky Barnes, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, use of colors as safe words</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:13:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m very sure.” Clint takes a step forward. “All good, one-hundred percent, green light means go. I want this.” He takes another step. “You wanted to know what I like? I like you telling me what to do. And then I <em>really</em> like it when I do those things, and you tell me I’m good.” He shifts his weight a little. “So if you’re still up for it...that’s what I want to do.”</p><p>sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755542">burn the ice and call me dirty</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>262</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mise en place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Y'all wanted a sequel? Ask and ye shall receive.</p><p>Thank you to <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/clintscoffeepot">clintscoffeepot</a> for the screaming comments/beta read, <a href="https://greyishbobbi.tumblr.com/">greyishbobbi</a> for coming up with the lovely tattoo ideas, and everyone on discord for supplying me with the gif fuel to come up with this. I adore the hell out of you humans.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wanda is less than thrilled with both of them when they come back up. “Give me those,” she says, snatching the box from James’s hand.</p><p>“I’m very sorry,” James says, not really sounding sorry at all. Clint hides a smirk.</p><p>She rolls her eyes and starts pulling out glasses.</p><p>“I’ll split my tips with you.”</p><p>Wanda pauses for a moment, then shakes her head. “No,” she says, irritation fading into tiredness. “It’s fine.” She glances at Clint. “He’s cute. I’ll allow it if you deal with the assholes down at the end there.”</p><p>Clint ducks his head a bit, and James laughs. “Fair enough.” He turns to Clint. “C’mere.” He directs him to a spot by the register and quickly mixes up a drink. “No moving, remember?”</p><p>“Not an inch,” Clint promises.</p><p>“Good boy,” James says, and Clint just barely cuts off the little sound that threatens to escape him. James winks, then moves off to the other end of the bar.</p><p>His phone buzzes, and he glances down at it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>RedHairedWonder: home</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>RedHairedWonder: should I wait up?</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Nope</em>, he sends back, then tucks it away in favor of watching James work his magic at the other end of the bar. He can see immediately why Wanda didn’t want to deal with the guys down there—even at this distance, he can tell they’re over-drunk and under-inhibited. When she reaches up for something, one of them lets out a sharp wolf-whistle and a “Work it, baby!” Wanda just rolls her eyes and carries on, setting a shaker on the bar by Clint.</p><p>“Sorry,” Clint says. “About leaving you with them.”</p><p>She shrugs and pours a drink. “They’re not the first. Won’t be the last.” She glances over her shoulder. “Besides, he <em>was</em> technically on his break. He can spend it doing whatever he wants.” She side-eyes him, and with a slight smirk adds, “Or whoever he wants.”</p><p>Clint ducks his head again, hoping the dim light will hide his blush. “We weren’t fucking—”</p><p>“Relax, Haystack. I don’t care what you were doing.”</p><p>Clint blinks. “<em>Haystack</em>?”</p><p>“The hair,” she says by way of explanation, and turns away. Clint reaches up to his admittedly-messy hair and ruffles through it. It doesn’t accomplish much except remind him of the way James had <em>pulled</em> on it, and a low heat unfurls in him.</p><p>Across the bar, James catches his eye. A slight smirk flashes over his face, and Clint immediately drops his hand, swallowing hard. He’s not good at this flirting thing. He has no idea what he’s doing.</p><p>“Relax,” Wanda says again, suddenly reappearing. “He likes you.”</p><p>“I would hope so,” Clint says. “Or else the rest of the night’s gonna be real awkward.”</p><p>She laughs. “Trust me, he hasn’t shut up about you since that first night. He likes you.” She glances over at James.</p><p>“He mentioned that, yeah,” Clint says, still a little stunned over it. He doesn’t know why—it’s not like he’s exactly the top of the list when it comes to good-looking, or anything else, really. But he isn’t going to question it, not when a fantastic one night stand is on the table. There’ll be time for that later.</p><p>“Here,” Wanda says. She spears a cherry with a toothpick, then drops it into his drink. “Do something with that.”</p><p>Clint looks at it, then up at her. “Huh?”</p><p>“See the couple coming in?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“They’re regulars. Good tippers. Distract James for me, will you?” She smiles at him and turns away, reaching under the bar.</p><p>Clint looks over to James, who’s leaning on the bar and having a quiet conversation with a pair of girls at the far end. They’re pretty clearly flirting, one of them even putting a hand on his arm to outline a tattoo. Clint feels a flash of jealousy snap through him. Which is probably stupid, considering what they just did downstairs, but he can’t help it. <em>He</em> wants to be over there, touching James. He wants to trace those tattoos with his fingers, and find out the stories behind them, and see where those lines of ink will take him—</p><p>James looks his way, and Clint fishes the cherry out of his drink. Without breaking eye contact, he licks the droplets curling off it, then pops it in his mouth and sucks on it for a moment before pulling the toothpick free.</p><p>He doesn’t even like cherries, but it’s entirely worth it for the look on James’s face. One of the girls says something, and he answers her in a distracted manner, never taking his eyes off Clint.</p><p>“Perfect,” Wanda says, and goes off to help the couple. Clint fights back a laugh. He settles for a smirk instead, something that hopefully makes him look semi-sexy instead of just ridiculous.</p><p>James sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and straightens up. He says something to the girls and flashes a smile, then casually makes his way over to Clint’s side of the bar. “You’re a menace,” he says quietly, reaching under the bar for a couple glasses.</p><p>“You like it,” Clint counters.</p><p>“I do,” James agrees as he fills them. “Were you trying to distract me, sweetheart?”</p><p>“Blame Wanda,” Clint says. “Her idea.”</p><p>James looks over his shoulder, and Wanda gives him a cheery wave. He sighs. “Suppose I should’ve seen that coming.”</p><p>“Probably,” Clint agrees, raising his drink to his mouth. James watches him the whole time, expression heated. “What?”</p><p>“You’re a menace,” James says again, looking like he’d very much like to take Clint back downstairs. Which Clint would totally be on board with, if he wasn’t slightly afraid of being yelled at by Wanda.</p><p>He sets the glass down. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just sitting here, having a drink.” He runs his finger around the rim of the glass and licks it clean. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”</p><p>“I—” James looks back at the girls on the far end. “Yes.”</p><p>“Should go take care of that, then.”</p><p>James mutters something that sounds a lot like <em>don’t want to</em> and turns on his heels, heading back to the girls. Clint watches, unable to keep the grin off his face any longer. He watches them talk, but there’s no jealousy to it this time. Not with the way James keeps glancing back at him.</p><p>“Thank you,” Wanda says. “Need another drink?”</p><p>Clint looks at his glass. “Something less strong, maybe.”</p><p>“Probably a good idea.” She makes him something and slides it over. “Here.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I made it up. You’ll like it.”</p><p>He does. It’s not as fruity as the one James made, but it’s good all the same. He starts to dig out some crumpled bills, but Wanda holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”</p><p>Clint pauses. “You sure?”</p><p>“Yeah.” She looks at James, then says, “Be good to him, okay? He’s had a rough time of things the past year. He needs another friend besides me and Steve.”</p><p>He nods. “I’ll—yeah—of course.”</p><p>“Good.” Wanda pats his arm and moves away.</p><p>Clint thinks about that for the next hour. He wonders what happened, if that’s the reason for the sad look James gets when he’s not flirting with Clint or working the bar. Clint’s never noticed before, but he’s never sat and stared at James for two hours straight either. It’s subtle, but it’s there.</p><p>He stores it away to ask later, not wanting to put a damper on the night, and gives himself over to increasingly obscene flirting with James. He still feels a little silly about it—he’s the exact opposite of smooth, and James makes him feel more tongue-tied than anything. But it seems to have <em>some</em> effect, because by the time the bar is winding down, James looks like he’s about half a heartbeat from putting Clint back on his knees. He’s not even really talking to anyone else, now, and as soon as he finishes an order he ends up drifting back over in Clint’s direction.</p><p>They’re trading increasingly bad pick-up lines when Wanda comes over and shoves a rag in his hands. “James,” she says sternly. “Quit thinking with your dick for two seconds and help me clean the bar. <em>Please</em>.”</p><p>Clint snorts, and James looks faintly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says quickly, and takes the rag. “I’ll help.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, and leans in to murmur something in his ear that Clint doesn’t quite catch. Whatever it is makes James very happy, because he immediately grins at her and kisses her cheek.</p><p>“You’re the best,” he tells her, and goes out to start clearing some of the tables.</p><p>“What did you say?” Clint asks.</p><p>“Just divvying up the work,” she says lightly. “If he helps me get things picked up, I’ll stay late and do the inventory.” She sighs. “Technically it’s his turn, but honestly, I’m pretty sure if I send him downstairs, he’ll take you with him, and nothing will get done at all.”</p><p>Clint nods. “Fair point.”</p><p>She smirks. “So give him fifteen minutes, and then he’s all yours, okay, Haystack?”</p><p>“Thank you,” Clint says, meaning it for a whole lot more. And she must understand, because she pats his arm and smiles, then plucks his empty glass from his hand.</p><p>It’s technically twenty minutes, but Clint doesn’t really mind, not with the way James spends most of it reaching up to put things away. His shirt rides up every time, revealing that other tattoo on his side— which Clint’s sure is a wolf of some kind—and the sight pretty much goes right to his dick.</p><p>Finally, James rinses his hands off and turns to survey the room. “Wanda?”</p><p>She presses a stack of bills into his hand. “Thank you. Here’s your tips, you can go now.”</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t need—”</p><p>“Go,” she says, looking amused. “Before I change my mind.”</p><p>“You’re the best,” he says again, and turns to Clint. “Alright. You ready?”</p><p>“God, yes,” Clint says, getting up. He stumbles a little bit, catching himself on the bar. “Let’s go, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>James disappears into the back room for a moment, then emerges with a leather jacket in his hand. “After you,” he says, gesturing to the door.</p><p>Clint manages to make his feet walk in that general direction without tripping. The street is quiet as they go out, the nighttime crowds mostly gone by this point. It makes the world feel a little smaller, a little more intimate. Clint likes it.</p><p>He glances over at James. “So, uh...” he starts, then immediately forgets where he was going with it as James pulls the jacket on. He’s never had a thing about leather jackets before, but he could stare at that <em>all</em> day.  “Uh...”</p><p>“Uh...” James echoes, a knowing smile over his face. “Something on your mind, sweetheart?”</p><p>“You,” Clint says honestly, and the smile gets wider. “I just...yeah.”</p><p>James laughs. “Come on,” he says. “My place.” He pauses. “Unless you wanted to do option one, still.”</p><p>“Option one?” Clint asks, trying not to drool as he looks at James.  </p><p>“Coffee, walk around?”</p><p>Clint shakes his head. “Your place is fine,” he says. “Unless <em>you</em> want that.”</p><p>James considers for a moment, then shakes his head. “As much as I like the anticipation,” he says, pulling some keys out of his pocket, “I’ve spent the last two hours thinking about the things I want to do to you, and I’d rather not wait any longer.”</p><p>Clint sucks in a sharp breath. “Me neither.”</p><p>James smirks. “Good.” He wiggles the keys. “Are you okay with motorcycles?”</p><p>“I’ve been on them before,” Clint says. “Well. Sort of. I stole one, once.”</p><p>“You <em>stole</em> a motorcycle?” James grins. “That’s a story I need to hear.” He points down the street. “Come on, I’m a couple blocks this way.”</p><p>“Why so far?” Clint asks, falling into step beside him.</p><p>“Free parking,” James says. “I know the guy who owns the building, I did him a favor once. He lets me borrow his parking spot when he’s out of town.”</p><p>“What did you do?”</p><p>James shakes his head. “Nope. You first. Tell me about stealing the bike.”</p><p>Clint sighs. “I was kind of a...” He waves a hand. “Not a good kid, growing up. Got into a lot of trouble. One time I was running from the cops, and some moron left his keys in the bike, and I’d hurt my ankle so I wasn’t moving real fast, and it was right there, so I...” He trails off, then says, “I stole it.”</p><p>James makes an amused sound. “What were you running from the cops for?”</p><p>Clint shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Stole some groceries,” he says, ducking his head. “Dad was drinking, and Mom wasn’t real helpful, and my brother was getting into his own kinda trouble, so I just...” He trails off again. “It wasn’t a lot, really. Just some bread and stuff. But it was the third or fourth time, I think, so they hauled me into the back room and made me sit there until the cops came.” He grins. “I slipped the cuffs and went out the window when one of them left me alone. That’s how I hurt my ankle.”</p><p>He looks over at James, expecting to see him laughing, or at least entertained. But James looks slightly furious instead, his brow furrowed and a frown on his face. “What?”</p><p>“I’m sorry that happened to you,” James says after a moment. “That’s not—no kid should have to steal to <em>eat</em>, that’s not right.”</p><p>Clint blinks. “I...”</p><p>He doesn’t know what to say to that. He always just took his shitty childhood in stride, assuming it wasn’t anything worse than what everyone else had to deal with. Then when he’d gotten older and realized that wasn’t quite the case, he’d just shrugged and continued dealing with it, because there wasn’t any point in crying over the past. Lots of people had it worse than he did.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “Shit happens. Anyway, so that’s how I ended up stealing the bike.  I didn’t get real far, but it was kind of awesome all the same.” He looks at James. “So to answer your question, yes. I’m okay with them.” He nudges James with his elbow. “As long as I get to hold onto you the whole time.”</p><p>James is studying him intently, but at that last sentence, his face softens a bit, and he nods. “We can arrange that,” he says. “Won’t be as exciting as a cop chase, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“That’s okay,” Clint says, seizing on the joke to break the tension. Not that he doesn’t <em>love</em> to talk about his past or anything, but there’s more interesting things on the table here. “I’m sure we can think of ways to make it interesting.”</p><p>The heated look comes back in James’s eyes, and he sucks at his bottom lip again. It’s unfairly attractive, really, and Clint swallows down a little moan at the sight.</p><p>“I’m sure we can,” James agrees. He looks around, then takes Clint’s arm and tugs him into a side alley. “C’mere.”</p><p>“What are we—”</p><p>“Shush,” James says, backing him into the rough bricks. “Best keep quiet, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to attract any undue attention this way.” He claims Clint’s mouth in a biting kiss, rough and desperate, one hand sliding up Clint’s arm.</p><p>“We could get arrested for this,” Clint says, shivering as his other hand dips into Clint’s jeans, palming over his half-hard cock.</p><p>“Only if someone important sees us,” James counters, pressing kisses along his jawline.</p><p>“I thought—” Clint starts, his knees going a little weak. “Weren’t we going—your place—”</p><p>“We’ll get there,” James agrees. “Just making it interesting, remember? Call it another preview.”</p><p>“Sick of previews,” Clint manages. “I want—want the whole show—Jesus <em>Christ</em>, James—”</p><p>James smiles against his mouth. “I said quiet,” he murmurs, and Clint clamps his mouth shut, clenching his jaw to keep from moaning. “There’s a good boy.”</p><p>He keeps his hand moving, stroking Clint inside his jeans. There’s not a lot of room to maneuver but that doesn’t really matter, almost makes everything better—hotter, closer, more intense. Clint’s senses feel like they’re dialed up to eleven. He’s <em>so</em> aware of the rough brick behind them, of the fact that they’re in an alleyway. In shadows, yes, but someone could walk by at any <em>second</em>—</p><p>“I want you to tell me before you come,” James murmurs in his ear, voice low and filthy. “Understand? All night long. Every single time.”</p><p>“I—” Clint cuts off with a sharp gasp, then says, “Yeah.”</p><p>“Say it back to me, Clint. Tell me you understand.”</p><p>“I understand,” Clint says, pushing into his touch. “I understand—James, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>“Oh sweetheart,” James murmurs. “You still think it’s gonna be that easy, huh?”</p><p>Clint makes a sound that’s halfway between a moan and a plea, and shakes his head. “No.”</p><p>“You can keep askin’ for it, though,” James tells him. “I like that. Not gonna let it happen, but I like it.” He does something <em>infernal</em> with his thumb, something that drags a moan out of Clint despite his best efforts to hold it back.</p><p>“James,” he grinds out again, digging his fingers into the brick wall behind him. “I’m gonna—”</p><p>He stops.</p><p>Clint lets out a pathetic sounding whimper. “<em>What</em>—“</p><p>“Easy, baby.” James presses a gentle kiss to his temple, sliding his hand out of Clint’s jeans. “Breathe.”</p><p>Clint drags in a breath, trying to focus on the cool air in his lungs and not the way he feels like he might tip over the edge at any second. It’s like being a teenager again, honestly, and he both loves and hates it a little bit. After a few moments, he’s got himself vaguely under control, and he nods his head once. “Okay.”</p><p>“Good,” James says, running his thumb over Clint’s mouth. “Alright. Let’s go.”</p><p>“Wait, what?” Clint asks, feeling a little punch-drunk.</p><p>“I’d like to finish this in my bed.” James pulls his arm. “Come on.”</p><p>“You’re the one who <em>started</em> it,” Clint protests, unwillingly stumbling after him.</p><p>“Yeah, and I’m gonna finish it, too. Just not here.”</p><p>“Jaaaames.” It’s whiny and kind of awful, and Clint immediately wants to take it back. James just flashes him a smug smile and pulls him back out onto the street.</p><p>They make it all the way to the motorcycle without Clint either falling over or coming in his pants, which is a miracle in and of itself. James tosses him a helmet from under the seat, then slings a leg over it. “Come on. Sit.”</p><p>“Aw, shit,” Clint says, suddenly realizing what’s going on here. “How far away—”</p><p>“About fifteen minutes,” James says, still looking smug as hell. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”</p><p>“Nope,” Clint says, trying to think about how he’s supposed to get through <em>this</em> without coming in his pants, because the odds of it don’t look good. “All good here.”</p><p>“You’ll be fine,” James assures him.</p><p>“You’re putting a lot of faith in my self-control,” Clint says, forcing himself to move closer.</p><p>“Nothing to do with your self-control. You’ll be fine because I said so.” He raises an eyebrow at Clint. “Right?”</p><p>“Right,” Clint says, his mouth suddenly dry. “I—right.”</p><p>James reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey,” he says, eyes concerned. “You know you can say no, right? If you’re not comfortable—”</p><p>“No, no,” Clint says, scrambling to get the words out. “No, it’s okay—” He makes a wild gesture with one hand. “It’s good.”</p><p>James nods. “Okay. Just making sure.” He tilts his head. “We should probably talk about that.”</p><p>“Probably.” Clint gets on the bike and slides the helmet on. “Maybe not here, though.”</p><p>He presses himself up against James, lets the other man arrange his arms where he needs them to be. Then James kicks the bike on, and slowly directs them out of the alley before cranking the throttle and blasting them down the street.</p><p>And it’s not as bad as Clint thought it would be, honestly. He’s intensely aware of the bike rumbling underneath him, the vibrations against sensitive skin and the way he’s pressed up against James, but he’s in control of it.</p><p>Or mostly in control. James takes a couple corners a little faster than he should, and Clint curses more than a few times, clinging tightly to James, but he manages to make it through the whole ride without losing his shit.</p><p>“You did that on purpose,” he accuses when they stop, and he finally pries his arms from around James’s waist.</p><p>“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” James tugs the helmet off and offers a cocky smile.</p><p>“And you called me the menace,” Clint says, following him into an apartment building. It’s the fancy kind, the type Clint could never afford in a million years. There’s a doorman, and an elevator that’s not creaky and broken, and there’s only one deadbolt on the apartment door to the three on Clint’s.</p><p>“Home sweet home,” James says, pushing open the door. “Come on in.”</p><p>He kicks his shoes off by the door, tucking them into a corner, and Clint follows suit. “This is really nice.”</p><p>It is nice. Bigger than Clint’s apartment by a sizable margin, and a little cleaner. The kitchen has <em>actual</em> counter space, too, and Clint stares around it in awe. “Natasha would flip if she saw this. She keeps telling me our kitchen’s too small. Not enough room to bake or whatever.”</p><p>“Steve inherited this place from his mom, I think,” James says, waving a hand. “Something, something rent control. I don’t know exactly, but it’s affordable, and about halfway in between work for both of us.” He points at a door off to the side. “Steve’s room. I’m down the hall there.”</p><p>“Subtle,” Clint says, heading down the hall. “Which room?”</p><p>“The one with a bed in it. Unless you want to do this in the bathroom.”</p><p>“Maybe later,” Clint says, pushing open one of the doors. “Shower sex can be complicated.”</p><p>James’s bedroom is nice too. Under-decorated, but it’s the kind of simplicity that he can get behind. There’s not much in the way of furniture—just a dresser, a giant bed that Clint desperately wants to sprawl on, bookended by little nightstands on either side. It’s very cozy, and Clint likes it.</p><p>“So,” James says, coming in behind him. “Before we get too wild.”</p><p>Clint moves out of his way and turns to face him. “I blew you in the basement of a bar two hours ago, that doesn’t count as <em>wild</em>?”</p><p>“Don’t sass me,” James says, and Clint bites off his next comment with a grin. “Before anything else happens, we need to lay down some ground rules.”</p><p>Clint is just <em>dying</em> to be a little shit, but he keeps it under control as James steps forward. “I’m listening.”</p><p>“Good,” he says. “First—do you have a safe word?”</p><p>Clint shrugs. “Never needed one before.”</p><p>“Okay,” James says easily. “You know traffic lights?”</p><p>Aaaand that’s it, he can’t stop himself. “Red, yellow, green? Believe it or not, I did pass the third grade.”</p><p>James snorts and pushes him onto the bed. “Keep talking,” he says. “And see what happens.”</p><p>“Is that a challenge?” Clint looks up at him from under his lashes, sprawling back on the bed on his elbows. “Because I know you don’t know me that well, but <em>keep talking</em> is kind of my specialty.”</p><p>“I’m picking up on that,” James says dryly. “Should put that mouth to better use, really.” He steps forward, right between Clint’s knees. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go. Got it?” Clint nods, and James pokes his nose. “Second thing. When I ask you questions, I want to hear an answer.”</p><p>Clint nods again, then at James’s little huff of air, says, “Okay. Talk out loud. Got it.”</p><p>“Good.” James reaches out and slides his hand along Clint’s face, cupping under his jaw. “So. You still want this?”</p><p>“Uh, <em>yeah</em>,” The grip gets a little rougher, and Clint swallows. “Yes. I want it.”</p><p>“Okay,” James says. “Tell me what you like.”</p><p>“What I—” Clint closes his eyes for a moment, trying to make himself think. “I don’t know. I like you.”</p><p>James shakes his head, a fond smile spreading over his face. “That’s sweet, doll, but that’s not what I was asking.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Clint says again. “The usual stuff? You know, blowjobs, and being fucked. I, uh,  liked you telling me what to do, and I liked when you—” He stops himself, already feeling the heat of embarrassment creep along his neck. “You know. What do you like?”</p><p>“When I what?”</p><p>He knows, Clint <em>knows</em> he knows, so he just clamps his mouth shut and reaches for James’s pants. Quick as lightning, James grabs his wrists. “I asked you a question, Clint.”</p><p>Christ, it shouldn’t be this hard to <em>say</em>, it’s just words. “I liked it when you...” He trails off, then shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. What about you—”</p><p>James lets out a disapproving sound, and Clint’s stomach tightens. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” His fingers press under Clint’s chin, tilting it up. “Look at me, sweetheart.”</p><p>Almost unwillingly, Clint meets his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, fighting back the nagging feeling in his chest that he’s managed to fuck this up somehow. He wants to turn away from James’s intense gaze, wants to curl into himself, but he doesn’t. He forces himself to keep his eyes open, to keep looking up at James.</p><p>“Got nothing to be sorry for,” James says after a moment, looking like he’s decided something. “You like being told you’re good, right? That’s what you wanted to say?”</p><p>Clint takes in a grateful breath and nods. “Sorry—”</p><p>“Got nothing to be sorry for,” James repeats, emphasizing the words. His thumb runs over Clint’s lips, then he adds, “I’m only asking because I want to make sure you’re having a good time, sweetheart. That’s all. We didn’t really get a chance to talk before. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page with a couple of things.”</p><p>He leans down and presses a soft kiss to Clint’s forehead, and Clint has to close his eyes against the howling storm of emotions that suddenly erupt in his chest. “Okay,” he manages. It comes out weak and thready, and he hates himself for it. “I—yeah.”</p><p>“We don’t have to do anything,” James murmurs. He kneels in front of Clint so they’re on the same eye level, and slides his hands over Clint’s before gently squeezing them. “You know that, right? We can just sleep, or I can take you back to your place.” His lips quirk a little. “Option one is still on the table, too. We can go get coffee or something. I know a place that’s still open.”</p><p>Clint takes a shuddery breath and pulls a hand free to swipe at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says for the third time. “I don’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”</p><p>“Stop apologizing,” James says firmly. “Nothing’s wrong with you, and you still don’t have a damn thing to be sorry for.” He squeezes Clint’s hand again. “I just want to be with you, Clint. I don’t care what we do. I want you to be comfortable. Okay?”</p><p>“I know,” Clint says. He takes another breath, scrubs a hand through his hair. “Can I use your bathroom?”</p><p>“Across the hall.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Clint gets up, carefully stepping around James, and goes into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, then turns to face the mirror. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his hair really does look like a haystack. <em>Guess Wanda was right.</em></p><p>“Get it together,” he tells his reflection, then splashes some cold water on his face. It shocks his senses a bit, brings him back to reality. He dries his hands and grips the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.</p><p>He knows what this is about. Natasha tells him all the time he has a chronic inability to ask for things. Even stupid, basic things. It’s probably a leftover fear from growing up—spending formative years dodging fits of rage and beer bottles tends to leave a mark on someone. It took six months of living with Natasha before he got up the courage to admit he didn’t like the kind of milk she bought for them.</p><p>So, yeah. He’s not good at straight-up conversations about what he likes, especially in situations like this. He doesn’t even know if he’s got words for what he wants—is there a way to phrase <em>I want you to tell me what to do, and then call me nice things for doing them?</em></p><p><em>Could just start there</em>, he can hear Natasha say in the back of his mind, and fights down the urge to laugh, because she’s right. She’s spent the last three years telling him different variations of the same thing:</p><p>It’s <em>okay</em> to have opinions. It’s <em>okay</em> to ask for what he wants.</p><p>He doesn’t always believe her, but he’s getting better at it. Slowly. But he’s getting there.</p><p>Clint takes a deep breath and nods. “You can do this,” he says to his reflection, and rubs a hand through his hair. “You already sucked his dick, shouldn’t be that hard to have a conversation with him.”</p><p>He drops his hand and opens the door, then crosses the hallway. James is sitting on the bed, facing the window. Clint can’t see his face, but it doesn’t look like his shoulders are tense or anything. Something eases in him at the sight, some little part of him that was worried he’d be pissed, or kick Clint out, or—</p><p><em>Stop it</em>, he tells himself firmly. <em>Don’t jump to conclusions. Talk to him.</em></p><p>“Okay,” Clint says, leaning against the doorway. He clears his throat and hooks his thumbs in his jean pockets. “I’m good.”</p><p>James turns around. “What?”</p><p>“I’m good,” Clint says. “I want this. I want you.” He waves a hand between them.</p><p>James tilts his head. “Are—are you sure? Because we—”</p><p>“I’m very sure.” Clint takes a step forward. “All good, one-hundred percent, green light means go. I <em>want</em> this.” He takes another step. “You wanted to know what I like? I like you telling me what to do. And then I really like it when I do those things, and you tell me I’m good.” He shifts his weight a little. “So if you’re still up for it...that’s what I want to do.”</p><p>The words feel <em>wrong</em> to say, but Clint shoves aside that little voice that tells him he doesn’t deserve to ask for things, and waits for James’s response.</p><p>He doesn’t have to wait long. James gets to his feet, and brushes his hair out his eyes. “Gonna ask one more time,” he says, looking a little hesitant. “Are you sure?”</p><p>Clint closes the distance between them, then dips his head and brushes his lips across James’s in a move that’s less of a kiss and more of a question. “I’m <em>sure</em>,” he says again. “Please.”</p><p>James lets out a little groan. His hand slides up Clint’s back, the heat of his palm bleeding through the thin shirt. “Okay,” he murmurs, and pulls him a little closer, turning the kiss into something a little more heated. Clint moans, and James takes advantage of it, licking into his mouth with a possessiveness that goes right to Clint’s dick.</p><p>They break apart after both an eternity and not long enough, and Clint gasps in a breath. “You’re good at that,” he says.</p><p>James smirks. “Glad to hear it.” He runs his hands over Clint’s shoulders, making a little sound of appreciation. “Okay. Remember the ground rules?”</p><p>Clint nods, and James raises an eyebrow. Clint blushes. “Yes,” he says. “Talk out loud. Red is stop, yellow is slow down, green is go.”</p><p>“Good boy,” James says, and Clint feels something in him unlock at the words. James pulls at his shirt. “Take this off. I want to see you.”</p><p>Clint pulls the shirt over his head and drops it on the floor, then immediately scoops it back up. “Sorry, I should fold it or—”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” James says, pulling it out of his hand. He tosses it over his shoulder. “I don’t care where your clothes end up, as long as it’s off of you.” He reaches out and drags his fingers across Clint’s skin again, the expression on his face a mix between admiration and lust.</p><p>“Like what you see?” Clint asks, shivering a little under his light touch.</p><p>“Definitely,” James says. “What do you do to get muscles like these, huh?”</p><p>“Arch—archery.” He shivers again as James’s hand drifts across his abs, appreciatively palming over the muscles. “I own my own course, and I teach classes at the Y part-time. Self-defense and yoga and other stuff.”</p><p>James looks intrigued, which Clint doesn’t really understand, because it’s not <em>that</em> interesting. “How did you get into that?”</p><p>“Long story,” Clint says. He grins. “Best told over drinks with dramatic hand gestures. There’s some weird shit involved.”</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that,” James says, stepping back to survey him like he did in the basement. “Lose the pants.”</p><p>Clint pulls his jeans off, hopping awkwardly and almost falling over as he toes his socks off with them. James reaches out to steady him, sliding his hands around Clint’s waist. “Sorry,” Clint says. “Chronically clumsy.”</p><p>“It’s cute,” James says. “But I thought I told you to stop apologizing?”</p><p>“I’m sor—” Clint slaps a hand over his mouth.</p><p>James laughs and tugs it down. “Don’t worry,” he says. “That’s cute too.” He steps back again, eyes roving over every inch of Clint’s body. It makes Clint feel naked, beyond the <em>actually</em> being naked part, and he’s not sure how to feel about it. He doesn’t know what to do with the appreciative gaze and the way James looks like he kind of wants to eat Clint for dinner.</p><p>“Fucking gorgeous,” James declares.</p><p>“Bet you say that to all the boys.”</p><p>“Only the gorgeous ones, sweetheart. And you’re definitely at the top of that list.”</p><p>Clint shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, then lets them drop, not sure what to say to that. “Can you...” he starts, reaching out for James’s shirt. “Can I take this off?” He slides his hand under James’s shirt. “Want to see all your tattoos.”</p><p>“Sure,” James says, and lifts his arms so Clint can pull the shirt over his head, <em>finally</em> baring his skin.</p><p>Clint drinks in the sight, letting his eyes drift all over the lines of ink. The lights are off, but there’s enough moonlight to see what he’s looking at. James’s left arm is a myriad of darkness and light, sharp lines and bright whites against a background of greys and black. At the top of his shoulder is <em>Semper Fidelis</em>, written in a curving, flowing script on an unfurling banner. “Marine?” Clint asks, gently rubbing his thumb over it.</p><p>“Yeah,” James says. “This is the military arm.” He holds it out so Clint can examine it more closely. “Joined at eighteen, like every other kid from my town. I got out about five years ago.” He laughs a little. “I was a kid when I got these, really. All wide-eyed and naive.”</p><p>Sliding through the banner is a wing of an eagle, sharply outlined and shaded. The eagle itself is flying on a background of storm clouds, a fierce expression visible in its eye. This fades down into an American flag that gently curves and unfurls around James’s bicep. Underneath that is a skull-faced soldier on a motorbike, done in a steampunk style that Clint immediately likes. The soldier has a fist raised, an explosion shaded in the distance behind him.</p><p>“That’s amazing,” Clint says, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “This is incredible.”</p><p>He moves to the right arm. This one is all in color, and it’s definitely newer, the lines a little less faded than on the other side. It’s a far more intricate design too, with several enormous but delicate flowers covering from his wrist up to his shoulder. Vines weave through them, a complex path that looks like it’s dancing through the petals. Hidden around James’s elbow is a series of Roman numerals, and a name etched along the edge of a white rose.</p><p>“Rebecca,” James says, his voice suddenly thick. “My, uh. My sister. She died last winter. Cancer. We knew it was coming, but...” He traces a finger over the name. “She loved flowers more than anything. White roses were her favorite, but she knew so much about all of them. She could make anything grow just by looking at it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Clint murmurs, his fingers running over the swirls of colors. The vines lead all the way up to his collarbone, ending in tiny petals right above his chest. On impulse, Clint leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to one of them. “She sounds like a good person.”</p><p>“She was,” James agrees. “Funny, and beautiful, and smart as a whip. She could run circles around me any day. I miss her all the time.”</p><p>Clint remembers what Wanda said, about James having had a rough year. He kisses another petal, feeling James shiver slightly underneath him. “It’s a beautiful tattoo. I bet she would’ve loved it.”</p><p>He steps back. James’s chest is ink-free, other than the swirls of vines from the arm. “Wasn’t there one on your—”</p><p>“This one,” James says, and he turns slightly to show another design splashed across his skin, lower on his side.</p><p>Clint laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but it escapes him without warning. “I thought it was a wolf,” he says, reaching out to touch the geometric shapes nestled around a cat’s head.</p><p>“She thinks she’s a wolf,” James says with a grin. “But that’s my cat, Alpine. She’s a monster and I love her.”</p><p>“Is she here?”</p><p>“Nah, my parents have her. My youngest sister needed her for Pet Day at school or something.” James spreads his arms out. “You like it, then?”</p><p>“I love it,” Clint says. “I’d love a couple tattoos myself, I just never knew what to get.”</p><p>James’s eyes light up. “Oh, I can help you. The guy who designed these? He’s an absolute genius. Talented as hell. I’ll take you to him.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Clint says, curling his fingers over the cat’s face.</p><p>James turns to face him, looking Clint up and down again. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says, and reaches forward. “C’mere.”</p><p>He maneuvers Clint backwards, slowly guiding him down onto the mattress until he’s flat on his back. His jeans are still on, and the rough scrape of denim over Clint’s bare skin is delicious. Clint whimpers a little bit, arching up into the touch as James settles over him, carefully holding his body out of reach.</p><p>“You asked me what I like,” James says, pressing a kiss to Clint’s collarbone. “I like this. I like you, spread out beneath me.” Another kiss to the other side. “I like you to respond to me. I like to hear the noises you make.”</p><p>His mouth closes around Clint’s nipple, sucking lightly, and Clint whimpers again. “James...”</p><p>“I like that too,” James says, pressing a kiss to his sternum. “Like you saying my name. Wanna hear it all night.”</p><p>“<em>James</em>.”</p><p>“You said you like being told what to do?” James moves to his other nipple, gently nibbling before laving his tongue over it. “That’s good, because I like telling you what to do. I like it when you listen to me, because then I can tell you how good you are.”</p><p>“Please do that,” Clint murmurs, putting a hand on James’s head. “Please<em>—ah</em>—please, do that.”</p><p>James trails kisses lower, working his way down. Clint’s breathing gets faster, eyes fixed on James as he hovers just above Clint’s cock, mouth barely an inch from it. Clint’s hard already, has been since the alley, really, and he’s so <em>desperate</em> for James to touch him, to lick him, to do <em>something</em>.</p><p>James chuckles low in his throat, a sexy sound that just makes Clint even harder, and he makes his way back up Clint’s body. “Patience,” he says, and leans down to kiss him.</p><p>Clint kisses back, body arching up into him. James kisses as intently as he does everything else, and it’s so easy to get lost in it. So easy to give in and let him take control, let him steal the air from Clint’s lungs, and the thoughts from his head, kissing until he’s nothing more than a brainless puddle on the bed.</p><p>James shifts his weight up and wraps his fingers around Clint’s wrists, squeezing just the right side of too-tight. “These arms,” he says again, rubbing his thumb over the veins. “You have no idea what they do to me, honey.” He raises one, pressing his mouth to the pulse point, then puts both of them over Clint’s head. “You comfortable?”</p><p>“I’m good,” Clint says.</p><p>“Keep them there,” James says, leaning over him to rummage around in the nightstand. He tosses a couple things down at the end of the bed. “No moving.”</p><p>“Not an inch,” Clint promises, and James grins.</p><p>“Good boy,” he says, and Clint closes his eyes, feeling himself relax even more.</p><p>James resumes his earlier path, kissing his way back down Clint’s chest, licking over his abs, and finally pausing between Clint’s legs.</p><p>“You want my mouth here?” he asks, dragging a single fingertip up Clint’s cock, base to tip. “You want me to return the favor? Take care of you like you took care of me?”</p><p>“Please,” Clint says, his hips twitching into the contact. “God, yes.”</p><p>“I can do that,” James says. “You were so good for me in that basement. Doin’ everything I asked.” He wraps his hand around the base of Clint’s cock, slowly stroking up and down. “Looked so pretty doing it, too. You have no idea.”</p><p>“Liked it,” Clint gasps. “Liked doing that for you.”</p><p>“I could tell.” His voice is dripping with sex, dirty and low. “You’re so perfect.” He leans down, licks across the head of Clint’s dick, then sucks it into his mouth.</p><p>Clint makes a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan, fighting the urge to reach down and grab James’s hair. Not that he wants to control what James is doing, but the desire to <em>touch</em> is almost overwhelming. “Ja—James—"</p><p>“Easy,” James says, coming up with a filthy <em>pop</em>. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. All you have to do is what you’re told. Okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint agrees. His voice is shaking. He flexes his arms, trying to force the words out of his mouth. “More, please?”</p><p>“So polite,” James says, sounding approving. “I like that.”</p><p>He dips his head again, and Clint’s brain decides to go offline, leaving him with nothing more than a gibbering mess of words streaming from his mouth. He’s always considered himself to be decent at this, but James is—</p><p>James is a goddamn miracle, really. He sucks Clint off like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his entire life, all filthy noises and wet sounds. His hands are firmly wrapped around Clint’s hips, holding him into the bed, tattoos on full display, and Clint is helpless to do anything but take it. To do anything but lay there and watch as James takes him apart piece by piece.</p><p>“Gonna—” he starts, distantly remembering James’s first instruction about telling him when he’s about to come. “James, I—”</p><p>James doesn’t stop. He squeezes Clint’s right leg in acknowledgement and <em>hums</em> around him, taking him deeper, and Clint yells as the orgasm slams into him like a goddamn tidal wave, sweeping him off to outer space in a haze of pleasure. His hips push up against James’s hold, but he can’t go anywhere, and that just adds another layer on top of everything else.</p><p>“Fuck,” he manages, when he collects himself enough to form words.</p><p>James drags his tongue up Clint’s dick, drawing out another whimper. “Color?” he asks, licking a strip along Clint’s thigh.</p><p>“Green,” Clint slurs, <em>actually</em> slurs. “The greenest, holy shit.” He flexes his arms again, and looks down at James. “What the <em>fuck</em>.”</p><p>“You liked that?” James is smirking at him, smug satisfaction written in every line of his body.</p><p>Clint nods, then remembers the talking rule. “Yes,” he says. “I<em>—fuck</em>, yes.”</p><p>“Good.” He comes up for a kiss. Clint can faintly taste himself on James’s mouth, salty and bitter, and it’s <em>unspeakably</em> hot. “You did so good, sweetheart. Your arms okay?”</p><p>“They’re okay,” Clint assures him.</p><p>“Good.” James kisses him again, slow and languid. He’s still wearing his jeans, and the scrape of them over Clint’s sensitive dick is enough to draw a sharp whimper out of him. James immediately moves himself a little higher.</p><p>“Take them off?” Clint asks, looking down. “Please?”</p><p>“Sure, darlin’,” James drawls, all Brooklyn accent, and Clint watches eagerly as he rolls to the side, shedding his jeans with a grace Clint could never manage. Then he rolls back, sliding his newly bared skin against Clint’s, and <em>holy fuck</em> it’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life.</p><p>“Wanna touch you,” Clint says, forcing the words out in the correct order, with some level of coherency. “Please?”</p><p>“Mmm.” James moves up to kneeling instead, running his own hands down Clint’s body. “You know what I want?”</p><p>Clint drags in a breath. “What?”</p><p>James leans forward again, claiming his mouth in another rough kiss. “I want,” he growls, biting gently at Clint’s lower lip before letting go, “to fuck you. I want to turn you over, and get my tongue and my fingers in you. I want to work you up until you’re begging for it again, and then I want to watch you come apart on my dick.”</p><p>Clint chokes a little, the words making making him flush in both desire and embarrassment, and he nods like a fucking bobble-head, frantic and desperate. “Yes, yes, god, please do that, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>James grins like a shark, teeth glinting in the moonlight, before pushing up and out of the way. “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”</p><p>Clint immediately rolls onto his front, using his core muscles so he doesn’t have to move his arms. This elicits another low growl from James, and when Clint turns his head to look, James is staring at him with a very predatory expression. “What?”</p><p>“You,” is all James says, leaning forward and kissing his way down Clint’s spine. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you do to me.”</p><p>Clint shudders a little, burying his face in the pillow. He doesn’t know what to <em>do</em> with that, doesn’t even know where to start with a response. <em>Praise kink and can’t take a fucking compliment, aren’t you just a hot mess?</em></p><p>James’s hand moves over his shoulders. “You don’t believe me?” he asks, rubbing in small circles. It’s way more comforting than it has any right to be.</p><p>Clint shrugs. “Sure I do.”</p><p>James flicks his hipbone. It doesn’t <em>hurt</em>, per se, but it’s enough to make him startle, turning onto his side to meet James’s eyes. “What—”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me,” James orders, voice low. “You don’t have to believe me, doll, but you better not lie about it.”</p><p>Clint swallows and nods. “Okay. Sorry.”</p><p>James smiles softly, then leans forward and kisses him, barely a brush of lips. “You are gorgeous,” he murmurs. “I’m hoping you’ll stick around after this, because I want to keep telling you that. Want you to hear it every damn day until you <em>do</em> believe it.”</p><p>And Clint—</p><p>Well, he doesn’t know what to do with that either, so he just nods again. “I’ll stay,” he says, then smirks a little and nudges against James. “Unless you’re planning on leaving me like this.”</p><p>James laughs and palms his ass, rubbing a soothing hand over the little red mark he’d left. “You look good like this,” he agrees. “But I still want to fuck you. Want to turn you into a fucking mess until the only thing you can think of is me.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Clint says, and he rolls up onto his knees in one smooth motion, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the pillow.</p><p>James lets out some kind of punched-out noise and squeezes his hips, leaning forward until his forehead is against Clint’s spine. “Babe,” he says, sounding a little wrecked himself.</p><p>“Problem?” Clint asks, turning enough to flash him a grin.</p><p>James mutters something incomprehensible and shakes his head. “When was the last time you got fucked, doll?”</p><p>He thinks. “Been awhile. I don’t remember.”</p><p>It hadn’t been good, anyway. He didn’t even remember the guy’s name, just that he was short and stocky and a total fucking asshole. Clint had pretty much kicked him out immediately after they were done, and he’d never called back. The guy had showed up at his archery course two or three times after that, and Clint had had to threaten to call the police before he finally got the hint.</p><p>James nods against his spine. “Okay,” he says, kissing the base of Clint’s spine. Then his mouth dips a little lower, and he adjusts his position “Get comfortable.”</p><p>“I’m good,” Clint says, settling into it.</p><p>“Good.” James’s thumb gently rubs over his hole, and Clint sucks in a breath. “What do you say if you need me to stop?”</p><p>“Red.”</p><p>“And slow down?”</p><p>“Yellow.” Clint bites down on his next response, then gives up and says, “And green means go.”</p><p>James snorts. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”</p><p>Clint means to follow that with some terrifically clever retort, but then James is pushing into him with a lubed-up finger, and his brain decides to take a rain-check again. “Jesus <em>Christ</em>,” is all he manages, sucking in a breath and dropping his forehead down to the pillow.</p><p>“Just me,” James tells him, moving his finger infernally slow. “Flattered, though.” He leans forward. The first touch of his tongue is like a firecracker to Clint’s nerves, lighting them up and dragging a deep moan out of him. “Good,” James praises, voice low. “I want to hear more of that.”</p><p>Clint’s response is a full-on porn moan, which he’s really glad is somewhat muffled by the pillow. James licks into him, adding another finger beside the first. It’s just a steady in-and-out, and it’s not long before Clint is pushing back into him, begging for more.</p><p>James chuckles, then shifts a little bit, changing the angle, and Clint yells into the pillow as his brain dribbles out from between his ears, leaving him a writhing, moaning mess in the bed. “You’re gonna kill me,” he gasps out, fingers scrabbling for something, <em>anything</em> to hold onto. “Jesus fuck, you’re gonna <em>kill</em> me—”</p><p>“Nonsense,” James says lightly, pulling the exact same move, laughing as Clint chokes and twists under him. “You can take this. You’re being so good for me.”</p><p>His cock is aching between his legs already, dripping and heavy, and Clint can practically taste his orgasm, feeling it curling up in his gut, and his toes, and sparking all along his skin. He’s never come like this before, practically untouched, and it’s almost too much while also not being nearly enough at all.</p><p>“James!” he gasps, forcing the name out through the slur of other babbling nonsense. “James, I’m—I need—”</p><p>James pulls his fingers out of Clint in the most agonizingly delicious way, and palms over his ass. “Give me a color,” he says, and Clint manages to fumble out something that sounds like <em>green, green, green.</em> “Good boy. Come up here a little more, that’s it...”</p><p>There’s a tearing of foil, and the sound of James slicking himself up. Then his cock presses against Clint’s hole, just barely resting on the rim.</p><p>“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, sounding a little breathless himself. “You can come whenever you want, but unless you say red, I’m not going to stop until <em>I</em> come. Understand me?”</p><p>“Yes,” Clint mumbles, pushing his hips back. “Yes, yes, green, I get it, please fuck me.”</p><p>“Of course, baby,” James says. “I got you. Open up for me, there you go.”</p><p>He slides in with one smooth motion, just slowly enough to allow Clint to adjust to him as he goes. Clint’s breath catches in his throat as James fills him up, the burning stretch of penetration dragging yet another obscene noise out of him. James echoes him as he bottoms out, pressing his hips against Clint’s ass.</p><p>“You feel so good, baby,” he murmurs. “So tight around me. You’re perfect.”</p><p>“You feel good too,” Clint chokes out, shuddering around him. His arms wobble a little bit, threatening to drop him into the mattress. James hums quietly and slides an arm under his chest, helping him support some of his weight.</p><p>“Color,” he says, fingers rubbing a small circle around Clint’s nipple, teasing at the sensitive skin. When Clint lets out a whine instead, he chuckles a little. “Give me a color, honey, or we’re gonna stay like this all night.”</p><p>“Green,” Clint gasps. “Greengreengreen, fuck me, please.”</p><p>“Good boy,” James says, and starts moving. Slow at first, almost sweet, each thrust accompanied by murmured praise. He keeps that up until Clint starts pushing back onto him, begging with his body since his words won’t fucking cooperate. James chuckles again at that, still toying with Clint’s nipple, each little motion sending shocks of pleasure to his brain. “You need more, sweetheart?”</p><p>“Ple-e-ease,” Clint begs, the word dragged out of him.</p><p>“Love this,” James says. “Love the way you beg for it. Keep doing that.”</p><p>“Harder,” Clint whines, pathetic and needy, and James obliges, picking up the pace, turning the sweetness into something rougher. Clint can feel the edge of his orgasm again, just tantalizingly out of reach. It’s <em>so</em> good, but it’s not enough, not gonna be enough to tip him over, he needs more, he needs <em>more</em>—</p><p>“Can I touch?” he grits out, splaying one hand on the bed in the hopes that James will understand what he’s asking.</p><p>“No,” James says, punctuating it with a sharp thrust. “You’re gonna come on my dick or not at all, sweetheart.”</p><p>Clint sobs a little at that. “I can’t—”</p><p>“You <em>can</em>,” James says firmly. “You can because I told you to, and you’re being so good for me.”</p><p>“God, oh, god, James, <em>please</em>—”</p><p>“You can do it, honey,” he says, angling right into Clint’s prostate. “You can do it. You can come for me, I know you can.”</p><p>Clint fists his hands in the sheets and sobs again, turning his face into the pillow to muffle it. James makes a <em>tsk</em> sound and his hand slides up Clint’s back, wrapping into his hair. He tugs—not sharply, but enough to pull Clint’s head back, raising him off the bed a little. “Want to hear it,” he reminds Clint between breaths. “No hiding. You’re gonna come for me, and I want to watch every damn second of it.”</p><p>And Clint doesn’t know whether it’s the change in angle, or the hand in his hair, or the tone of command in James’s voice, but whatever it is, it works. Fucking <em>galaxies</em> of pleasure explode in his mind, stars twisting and burning and whiting out his vision, taking with it any semblance of dignity or coherent thought. He goes utterly boneless, slumping in James’s hold as he sobs in a breath, feeling tears drip down his face.</p><p>He’s distantly aware of James fucking into him, his rhythm getting more frantic as he chases his own orgasm. It <em>hurts</em>, the drag of his cock inside Clint’s over-sensitized body, but he’s so lost in a haze of pleasure that it barely registers.</p><p>James lets out a low groan, and pushes into Clint one last time, shuddering and leaning against him. “Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head against Clint’s spine. “Fuck, babe. You’re so good. You did so good for me.”</p><p>Clint manages a nod, which is about all he’s got left in him at this point. James stays there for a long moment, pressed up against him, his hand still supporting Clint’s chest. He keeps murmuring a string of nonsense things, accompanying them with kisses to every inch of Clint’s skin that he can reach. Clint keeps floating off in outer space, happy and sated and unwilling to return to reality a second sooner than he has to.</p><p>He dimly registers James pulling out, and the gentle but insistent way James arranges him down onto the bed. “Be right back,” James murmurs. “Stay here.”</p><p>“Kay,” Clint slurs.</p><p>He hears the sound of running water in the bathroom, and after a moment, James returns. He rolls Clint onto his side, then tenderly wipes a warm cloth along Clint’s body. “There we go,” he says. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Let me take care of you, okay?”</p><p>“Kay,” Clint says again, perfectly content to lay there and do just that.</p><p>James follows the wet cloth up with a dry one, then disappears for a moment again, coming back with a glass of water. “Sit up for me.”</p><p>Clint makes what he considers to be a valiant effort, which doesn’t get him more than a few inches off the bed. James chuckles quietly and pulls him the rest of the way, sliding himself behind Clint so he’s leaning against James’s chest. “Drink this,” he says, pushing the glass into Clint’s hand. “Come on. Drink. You need it.”</p><p>“Bossy,” Clint mutters, but he takes the glass and drinks anyway, realizing about halfway through how thirsty he is.</p><p>“Bossy,” James agrees, kissing his head, and fuck if that just doesn’t make Clint all melty inside.</p><p>Well. <em>More</em> melty. He’s pretty sure he’s just a puddle at this point. A happy, well-fucked puddle.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says to James when the water’s gone. “For the...” He sets the glass on the nightstand and flops a hand. “Everything.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” James says, wrapping his arms securely around Clint’s chest. “Was that okay for you? Anything you didn’t like?”</p><p>“Uh, did you not hear me screaming?” Clint laughs a little, clumsily patting at his arm. “That was fucking amazing, James. I’m pretty sure you actually <em>did</em> kill me for a little bit.”</p><p>“I’m talented like that,” James says, and Clint can tell he’s smiling. He kisses Clint’s head again. “You were perfect. So beautiful.”</p><p>Clint blushes, ducking his head a little. “Uh. Thanks?”</p><p>James makes a little humming noise and holds him tighter. Clint’s never really considered himself to be a cuddling type, but apparently this is the night to learn new things he likes, because he has <em>zero</em> desire to move at all. He could stay right here in James’s arms forever.</p><p>“You can stay,” James says, and Clint blinks. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. “I’d like you to stay. It’s late.”</p><p>Clint is nodding before he’s even realized it. “Works for me.”</p><p>“Good.” James smoothly rearranges them a little lower in the bed so they can lay on the pillows. He kicks the top sheet aside, opting instead to pull the comforter over them both, then wraps an arm around Clint’s chest. “This okay?”</p><p>“This is great,” Clint mumbles, exhaustion tugging at him. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Welcome,” James mumbles back, and they both fall asleep.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Steve doesn’t look surprised at all to see Clint the next morning, although Clint’s not sure if that’s because he heard them, or because he knew James would be bringing him home. “Morning,” is all he says as they stumble out of James’s room, still sleep-mussed and yawning. “You like French toast?”</p><p>“I love French toast,” Clint says, sitting down when Steve points at one of the chairs. He must have been up for awhile, because he’s dressed, showered, and the table’s already set for three people.</p><p>James opens the fridge. “You ate my Chinese,” he says. “You rotten <em>bastard</em>.”</p><p>“Told you I would.”</p><p>“Gonna murder you,” James says, slamming the fridge shut. “In your sleep. Tonight.”</p><p>“As long as you don’t wake me up for it. I’ve got a test tomorrow.”</p><p>“Lucky you. Want me to get you a color wheel so you can study for it?”</p><p>“Fuck you, Barnes.” Steve turns to Clint. “What about bacon, you like bacon?”</p><p>“I will eat anything and everything,” Clint assures him. “I have no standards about food.”</p><p>Steve snorts. “You and Bucky will get along great, then.”</p><p>Clint looks between them. “Bucky?”</p><p>“It’s James,” James says. “Except to this asshole, who in addition to eating my food, refuses to call me anything else except a ridiculous childhood nickname.” He reaches into a cabinet, pulling down a coffeemaker. “You guys want some?”</p><p>They both nod, and James starts brewing. He digs out three mugs from the cabinet. He fills one and spoons some sugar into it, then hands it to Steve. “Clint, how do you like yours?”</p><p>“Just straight-up is fine,” Clint says, accepting his mug. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Of course.” James drops into the chair across from him, running a hand through his hair.  “So,” he says. “I meant it last night when I said I wanted you to stick around.”</p><p>“I—” Clint looks down in his mug, taking a deep breath. “Really?”</p><p>“He does,” Steve says, setting down a plate of toast. “He hasn’t shut up about you in weeks.”</p><p>“Christ, Stevie,” James says, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I’m trying to be smooth here.”</p><p>Steve snorts. “It’s true,” he says to Clint. “So please, for my sanity, stick around so he’ll talk about something else besides you and your arms.”</p><p>Clint blushes hard. He sort of wants to sink through the floor a little bit, only slightly mollified by the fact that James looks the same way.</p><p>“Anyway,” James finally says, “the tactless asshole has a point. I like you. I like your arms. I like other things about you, too. I also would like to take you on an actual, proper date, so you can tell me your long story about teaching classes at the Y. Dramatic hand gestures and all.”</p><p>That startles a laugh out of Clint, and James looks delighted with himself. “There’s some boring exhibit at some boring art museum later today,” he says. “Tactless asshole is making me come along. Care to join us?”</p><p>“It’s not <em>boring</em>,” Steve says, sounding affronted. “You’re just uncultured swine.”</p><p>James grins. “Sticks and stones, punk.”</p><p>Clint is looking back and forth between the two of them, torn between feeling a little awkward and being highly amused.</p><p>“We’re always like this,” Steve assures him, dropping more toast on the plate. “You can eat, by the way. Bacon will be done soon.”</p><p>Clint pulls some French toast onto his plate and douses it in syrup before taking a bite. “Holy shit,” he says. “This is so good.”</p><p>“It is, isn’t it?” Steve smiles at him. “Old family recipe.”</p><p>“He’s actually pretty decent at cooking,” James admits. “Another reason why I keep him around.”</p><p>“Fuck you again, Barnes. This is <em>my</em> apartment, and you’re just renting a room.”</p><p>James snickers and looks at Clint. “So. Boring art museum. You in? You’d be doing me a huge favor, really. I don’t want to be stuck in another Steve Rogers Goes On About Monet lecture by myself.”</p><p>“Uncultured swine,” Steve mutters again, refilling James’s coffee mug.</p><p>Clint laughs. “I’d love to come,” he says, mentally running through his schedule. It’s Sunday, so the course is closed, and he can always text Kate to take his one afternoon yoga class. “I don’t know shit about art, though.”</p><p>“I’ll educate you,” Steve says. “Then you and I can hang out and we’ll make Bucky third-wheel. Sound good?”</p><p>“Sounds great,” Clint says, and James lights up at the agreement, a brilliant smile blooming over his face. “And for the record...”</p><p>He trails off for a moment, looking down into his mug. Breathes in the scent of coffee and pushes aside that little nagging voice. He can do this.</p><p>
  <em>It’s okay to ask for what you want.</em>
</p><p>“For the record,” he says again, looking up at James. “I’d like to stick around.” He grins. “I like your arms too.”</p><p>“Spare me,” Steve sighs, but Clint barely hears him, lost in the way that James is looking at him, like all of his Christmases have come at once. It’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his life, even better than what he saw last night, and he decides right then and there he wants to make James look like that forever.</p><p>“Good,” James finally says as he sips his own coffee, still beaming like the sun. “Glad to hear it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title is a french term meaning "everything in place" </p><p>I'm on <a href="https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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